


Praise of the Sociopath

by navaan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Gen Fic, Girl Saves Boy, Hurt, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-07
Updated: 2010-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is left for dead after he is shot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Praise of the Sociopath

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the girlsavesboyfic ficathon on lj.

He felt himself falling before he felt any pain. He reached down to touch the wound reflexively. Blood on his stomach. A slightly charred whole in his expensive shirt. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

His legs couldn’t support his weight any longer and he fell, crashing right against the fireplace. The back of his scull hit the stone hard.

The men were already hurrying to get out.

 _They’ll leave me here,_ he thought. _I’ll bleed myself to death on a cold concrete floor._ An abandoned building and no one knew about him being here at all.

John would be thrilled to know he had been right all along: He was an idiot. A brilliant idiot, if ever there was one.

Yes, he liked the thrill of danger. Yes, he tended to get himself into trouble.

But he had never planned to die on the cold floor of an abandoned building. Killed by unworthy adversaries, too. _No one will find me,_ he thought, his eyelids dropping already, his body feeling heavy. Because who would be clever enough to find him, when he wasn’t around to point them into the right direction?

\--

He woke up in a hospital bed. An IV was dripping away at his bedside. It took him a moment to really focus on anything.

 _Concussion_ , he surmised. His thoughts were feeling awfully slow and sluggish. Was that how everyone else felt all the time? Broken? Crashed? he didn’t want to know.

There was no pain. But he _had_ been shot. Painkillers?

He felt numb. Normally he kept to drugs that helped him combat fatigue when his body couldn’t keep up with his brain. This was making him feel tired and useless.

“You’re an idiot.” John’s voice, from his bedside. The side he wasn’t looking at. He considered turning his head, but couldn’t muster up the will to actually do it. “You could have told me what you were up to.”

“Ah. But where would be the adventure,” he croaked, trying to sound insolent and cocky and failing miserably.

“You shouldn’t strain yourself,” John said in his stern doctor voice. It sounded really smug, too. He could imagine his friend exchanging notes with his brother over this. He needed to get out of here, before Mycroft had the brilliant idea to come and visit.

“What happened?” He was glad to note that his voice was sounding more like his own with every word....

“You were bleeding to death in an abandoned...”

He sighed dramatically and for the first time there was a dull pain in his head. “Don’t point out the obvious, John. How was I found in time?” He turned to look at his friend, sitting in an uncomfortable looking hospital chair. His face was stern, but Sherlock could see the dark circles around his eyes. He must have been in hospital for some time then.

The corner of John’s mouth curled upwards into a smug smile. “Oh. It seems Donovan followed the same leads that you were following.”

Sherlock knew he was starring. “Sally Donovan?”

“You’ll never hear the end of it, I’m sure,” John seemed satisfied to inform him. “You were lucky by the way. The bullet went cleanly through and didn’t puncture anything vital.”

“Hmm.” He calculated the odds of being found in the nick of time. “This will make quite the heroic story for you blog, don’t you think?” he asked wryly.

John chuckled. “I could ask her if she took pictures. Would make it all the more vivid.”

It wasn’t unlikely that she had, Sherlock presumed. She was probably showing them around Scotland Yard this very minute. “I’m not sure the readers of your blog will want to be faced with the reality of a dying man.”

“ _You_ were the dying man!” John seemed a lot less amused saying that out loud.

There was a soft knock at the door. Raised voices, a nurse complaining while the door opened regardless of her protests.

“He’s awake and insolent,” John informed the visitors. Sherlock closed his eyes. He felt tired and had no interest in a face off with his brother when he was at his weakest.

“He still looks dead to me,” Lestrade remarked in a matter of fact tone and Sherlock would never admit that he was glad to have him there instead of his obnoxious sibling. “We just wanted to check up on him. We can ask all the uncomfortable questions later.”

“Like what?” Sherlock asked without opening his eyes.

“Like what you were doing there in the first place.” Donovan this time. “You had no place to meddle in an ongoing investigation.”

Sherlock gave a snort in answer and opened his eyes. “You wouldn’t get anything done if I didn’t meddle in your investigations.” He hoped the earlier weakness had left his voice by now. There was a painful stab where he was sure the bullet had gone through him. Pain was returning gradually. He sighed heavily. This would restrict his movements for some time.

“You would be dead without me,” Sally answered calmly. “Think about that, freak.”

Her DI was only looking at her than at John, not looking at Sherlock at all. “We’ll be back in the morning.” He turned to the door, to leave, giving Sally a pointed look.

She didn’t really need to be asked. With a huff she followed her superior.

Sherlock cleared his voice. “You followed the same lead I was following. That’s quite... impressive.” He tried to keep his voice level, but the fatigue was suddenly overwhelming. But he managed to keep his eyes open.

Donovan stopped inside the door to look back at him. “I was only doing my job, freak.” She made to leave, but stopped and added. “I expected you to get bored and kill someone, not to get killed.” It sounded reproachful.

Sherlock closed his eyes making a humming sound. The corner of his mouth showed signs of a satisfied half smile.

The door fell closed and John cleared his throat.

“That was an awfully nice thing to say.”

“Hm.”

“Highest praise from you.”

“Hm.”

“You never cease to amaze me.”

“If you don’t mind. I’m tired. I was nearly killed.”

“You’ll never live it down anyway, you know.”

“Hm.”


End file.
